Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Little Bodies Full of Knowing

I like to imagine that babies already know everything. I like to
imagine that they are the wisest beings on earth. So wise, in fact, that
they need not tell anyone about anything (unless, of course they’re
hungry or their arms are trapped in their blankets or they have
something in their eye). Knowing makes them content; experiencing God in
the depths of their silence is enough.

It’s as if God can tell them every secret, give them the answer to
every small and large question because their silence will keep those
secrets safe for a time.

I’d tell you about Truth if I could just keep my head up, they cry.

But don’t worry fellow mortal, my mom is making me do tummy time
for ten minutes a day now, so soon I can teach you the ways of the
Infinite. Soon enough and then you too shall know, they coo.

But then they sleep off all of this infinite wisdom, cry out all of
the compassion they feel for all of the clueless people they know. They
have it all figured out until one day they say their first word, take
their first steps and begin their journey back to the infinite places
from which they came; forgetting all that they understood until in time they
re-learn it, realize it all over again.

Truth then, is kept safely in a baby’s silence.

* "I’d tell you about Truth if I could just keep my head up", something Tarrin jokingly said when we were discussing this idea while holding Quentin (shown above), our city director's baby.